


Hurle takes a bath

by Attercop



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Cannibalism, Character Study, Dysphoria, Gen, Hurle is the worst do not engage, Kinda, Religious Fanaticism, Self-Harm, War Boy Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:12:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7168682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attercop/pseuds/Attercop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite him hating it, it's high time Hurle takes his bath</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurle takes a bath

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my [tumblr](http://platonicallyinlovewithtrees.tumblr.com) last summer, Hurle belongs to me

Hurle hated the Clean-up day. He hated to strip the protective clay from his skin, and he hated to be seen doing it. He always went to wash himself at weird hours, just to be sure noone would be there, often during the night, like this time. The room was silent and dark, the only light coming from the openings in the ceiling, moonlight that made the familiar room eerie. Of course, the water was cold, with no sun to warm it, but the cruel bite of it was not too unpleasant. It was better than feeling foreign eyes on his body. The thought of it always made his skin crawl with disgust.

Hurle grimaced as he stripped, leaving his clothes in a heap near the water and immediately stepped into it. The liquid got cloudy with clay, since he made sure every day that his skin was completely covered with it. The clay was good. It hid him from the world. Here, in the water to his belly, he was naked to a degree he could almost not bear. He took a deep breath and ducked under the surface. Then, eyes still closed, he rubbed his hands on his face and skull to remove the war paints. Suddenly, muffled by the water, he heard a loud noise, as if a piece of metal had hit the ground. He stood back up, coughing, eyes scanning frantically the room. Nothing. Had he imagined the noise ? Or was it from the pipes ? When he was sure there was nobody in the room, Hurle sighed and tried to calm his pounding heart. He hated to come here.

He scooped some water into his hands and finished washing off his paints. It felt weird not to have the taste of motor oil on his lips. He ran his right hand on his skull. Except around the metal plate, his brown hair was long enough to be felt. He hated this strange, prickly feel, like fur. He checked under his arms and on his legs. There too, he would have to run the blade of his knife. Picturing how he would look if he never shaved made him nauseous. Hurle hated that animalistic side of human beings. And…there too. He hated to even think about that place, let alone look at it or touch it. But he could not leave it unshaven. He had to get rid of every hair, otherwise cleaning up was meaningless.

Stretching his arm to his clothes, he rummaged a couple of heart beats, then took out his knife. He used it quite often outside of this place for various tasks but he kept the edge nice and sharp. Sharp was good. He placed the blade on his torso and started shaving off the few hairs that grew there. Then he moved to his left arm, then the right, the armpits, the back just to be sure, then the legs, again, right and left. The feeling of the knife ridding him of his hair and remaining clay was a relief, as if driving back the beast inside of him. He hated the beast and kept it restrained at all times, except when he bit into the still beating heart of his last kill, to please the V8 and appease the beast. Others had a beast too, but most let it go wild and unchecked, pertaining in gross exchanges of fluids, mating like dogs in heat, becoming less than humans.

Hurle ran the blade against his skull, scrapping the short brown hair off. He already felt better, almost done. He shaved his face as well, eyebrows, his cheeks and his chin, even if nothing had ever grew on them. Left was…there. He walked until the water only reached the middle of his thighs and looked down on his penis. The urge to cut if right off was overwhelming, as if the bottom of the bath had opened under his feet and he was falling into a well filled with blood, slowly drowning, unable to scream. He was woken up by a sharp pain : his grip around the knife was so tight that his nails, even kept short, had cut his palm. He shook his head to make the delusion disappear and got to shave his rare pubes. He moved his sex with disgust, touching it as little as possible while he worked quickly.

His eyes fell on the lattice of thin scars that marked the inside of his right thigh. He had to stop, he thought, he really had to. But. It felt almost good to score the skin with the blade, it soothed the urge to rip his penis off, having the blade so close, to actually shed blood. He knew cutting it off would cause him a great pain, maybe even death, and if not, serious questions. He sighed. He had to stop. Next time for sure, he would be reasonable. He sighed again, and placed the blade against the scarred skin. He closed his eyes. The blade was sharp and only cut the surface, just deep enough to spill a little blood. It was enough.

Relief washed over him like water after a long day in the Wasteland. Hurle threw the knife back on the heap of clothes and walked where the water was the deepest. He rinsed himself one final time, making sure he had not forgotten a patch of hair, then he stumbled out of the water, dripping. Usually, the Boys went to dry on the terrace in the sun, but at night, it was the surest way to get a cold. His skin appearing even paler than it naturally was in the moonlight, Hurle felt even more alone and foreign than he did normally. This body was, it was no good, too thin and sickly, almost to weak to ascend to Valhalla, while he was awaited ! He had been chosen to carry his brothers to the gates of Valhalla ! But being smooth again made him feel better, more a human being than a beast. All he needed was some clay and he would be able to honour the V8 again.


End file.
